


On The Other Hand...

by sweepeaspatch



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28652436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweepeaspatch/pseuds/sweepeaspatch
Summary: That Season 10 promo clip - another interpretation after a good night's sleep.
Relationships: Camille Bordey/Richard Poole
Comments: 11
Kudos: 17





	On The Other Hand...

**Author's Note:**

> OK, angsty scab-ripping session over, it’s time to get back to the fluffy fluff!  
> Thanks to everyone who checked up on me... but I am not awash in abyssal self-defenestration, just p***ed by that bloody promo! Oh, and having the BBC pulled out of North America just in time for me NOT to watch DiP in real time. Curses, foiled again.

On The Other Hand…  
Camille smirks back at DS Cassell as the two women share the same thought. _Men! They think they hide their feelings SO well!_ Camille and Florence had shared a bottle of wine the night before beneath the twinkling fairy-lights and the sparkling stars… and there had been only one topic of conversation.

Men. Particularly men who think they hide their feelings. Especially BOSS-men.

Oh, how they had laughed at the contortions men attempt to avoid the inevitable! I mean, why fight it? Once the woman has set her sights then the man is toast but not dry and crumby toast, no, warm and toothsome toast, especially if slathered with something sweet and/or slippery. Then they’d come up with just such a list of sweet and slippery substances that could be liberally applied to warm and toothsome toast… and a second bottle of wine had been called for!

Now Camille nods to Florence and Florence nods back. Oh, yeah, they had talked long and hard last night about their men… or Camille had talked and Florence had listened because boss-men were tricky. Especially English boss-men. Especially up-tight and moral English boss-men. But Camille had learned the secret long ago and last night she’d shared this secret with Florence.

And now Florence knows everything she needs to know in order to bring her English boss-man to heel just as Camille had brought hers to heel years ago. Oh, yes, a well-trained Englishman is worth his weight in gold and a treasure to cherish and gloat over forever.

As Florence falls in behind her DI and follows him (some might say ‘stalking’ him), Camille loiters briefly, giving the couple a few moments alone in case developments are in the works already. As she shuffles her feet and dawdles, her mind is most pleasantly occupied with thoughts of her own developments that are forthcoming as soon as she gets back to Guadeloupe. She’d made him promise to come straight home from his 3-day conference on Martinique and she wanted to be home to properly welcome him.

She sighs. Being a Chief of Police is a rewarding job and she’s very happy in that position but being married to the Commissioner of Police is an even better reward and she’s happier in that position. Her rushing thoughts distract her briefly and she looks away, to the west, and startles. She stares, blinks, stares again. _Oh, it CAN’T be! He said he would go straight home! What’s he doing HERE?_

Her brow furrows and she huffs an annoyed breath. _He must have had his fingers crossed behind his back when I exacted that promise out of him! Why is he slogging up his former beach in the full sun like this? He’s going to fry to a crisp! That pale skin of his has never adapted to this climate._ She smiles then, slow and luxe, _Thank goodness._

Some sixth sense (or maybe an even higher one, you just never know with him) makes him look up. He halts, raises a slow hand, gives her a little smile. Oh, she knows that smile. It says ‘Look, I know I said I was going to do something or say something or go somewhere or whatever it was that you asked me to do… but I’d really rather not… don’t be angry… I love you… give us a kiss…’ 

And, right on cue, her heart melts a little bit and her pulse speeds up. Still, she mustn’t give in too easily. Her frown deepens and her lips thin as she gives him a second more annoyed look. She huffs a breath as if to say ‘Men! Why do we even try?’ She pins him with a sharp look for another moment or two then turns away and walks to the corner of the house to see what her companions are up to.

They are up to snogging. 

DI Parker is backed into the passenger-side door and is getting a pretty good going-over by his DS. Florence is slightly hampered by their height disparity but it doesn’t seem to be slowing her down much. Camille grins. Her advice from last night must surely have hit the mark. She ducks back around the corner and calls out, “Florence? Sorry I took so long…” and walks back into view where two people are now standing more or less politely beside the Jeep.

As Neville nervously runs a hand down his shirt-front, Florence coolly asks, “Yes, DI Poole?”

Camille waves a hand, “You two go ahead without me. It seems my Commissioner needs to speak to me rather urgently. He’s coming up the beach for a meeting. I’ll call a taxi to bring us back to town.”

Florence’s eyebrows raise slightly, “Your Commissioner? Here? Now? How do you know it’s urgent?”

Camille smiles evilly, “Oh, he’s going to get told it’s urgent as soon as he gets here.” She makes shooing motions with both hands, “Vite, vite, I’ll be OK.” Florence nods and chivies DI Parker into the Jeep. Within moments they are gone and Camille wheels about, climbs the steps, and leans on the railing to watch her beloved suit chug the rest of the way to the little house whereupon he stops at the bottom of the beach steps and whips out a snowy white handkerchief to mop his brow.

She chirps, “Still too hot for you, hey?”

He eyes her knowingly as he huffs, “Yes, it always will be, in more ways than one, as you well know.” He then sits on the top step and begins knocking sand out of his shoes. “I, for one, would welcome a boardwalk here.”

She comes to sit beside him, watching him with infinite patience, “Don’t be silly. It would just draw tourists and then this place would lose all its privacy.”

He finishes re-tying (or whatever it is he does with his laces) his shoes and grumps, “Well, we can’t be having that. Privacy is about the only plus this place offers to a single man who has just been ear-marked for matrimony.” 

She’d been leaning a saucy elbow on his near shoulder but now she sits back with a blink, “Now, how did you know that?”

He dusts his hands off and turns to her, “Elementary, my dear scheming wife. There’s a quiet relatively shy bachelor DI living here, new to the island and eager to begin a new life. He’s been assigned a quiet not-so-shy French DS, wise in the ways of the island and eager that he should begin this new life. I could hear the wheels turning in your head right over the phone during our nightly matrimonial calls.”

“Oh,” she lisps, biting her lip and trying not to laugh, his sense of propriety has never failed him in all the years they’ve been ‘matrimonial’, “I see. Well, you’re right. I just caught them kissing out by the truck… which was more than YOU ever did. If she was ever going to land him, she had to make the first move. It never pays to let the Englishman decide.”

He crosses his arms and gives her a cheeky little grin, “Mmm-hmm, and how many bottles of wine did it take for you to convince her of this?”

She gives him a deadpan look but can’t hold it. He knows her SO well. She bursts out laughing, “Only one, I think she had already made up her mind but I thought she would benefit from my vast knowledge of French seduction techniques adapted to English quarry.”

“Oh,” he murmurs, “then the poor sod doesn’t stand a chance, does he?”

“No,” she states boldly, “and as close colleagues to a sister-island, we will be invited to the wedding, so don’t pencil anything in for the next few months, OK?”

He leans over then and kisses her gently, “I never do, dear one, I never do.” He sits back with a sigh, “And, now, I suppose you are wondering why I’m here now instead of back home tonight as promised?”

She pats his knee, “I knew if I waited long enough, you’d get around to telling me. Is it bad?”

“No,” he frowns, “not everything that changes my plans is bad, you know.” Her eyebrows rise and he huffs, “It’s NOT! I can be carefree and flexible and ready to jump when an opportunity shows itself.”

She looks at him sideways, “Oh, I see, and what opportunity has reared its head today?”

He leans back, looks up to the sky, “Well, it just so happens that the Commissioner of Antigua has a holiday villa here on Sainte-Marie and since his sister’s cousin’s aunt’s brother-in-law’s nephew was the one we DIDN’T arrest in the jewelry heist a month ago, he is very pleased to let us use it for a few days.” He produces a big old skeleton key like a magic trick, twirling it to catch the light.

“Richard! That’s marvellous! Let’s pick up supper and wine at Maman’s place on our way.”

He stands, helps her to her feet, “Yes, let’s.” He calls for a taxi while she speaks to her mother as they wait under the shade of the trees. When she hangs up, he can’t help asking, “Why did you ask your mum for jams and honey? None of that is proper supper tucker.”

She jinks saucy eyes to him, “Oh, you heard that, did you? Well, um, it has to do with something else Florence and I talked about last night over the wine. Oddly enough, Maman says Florence just left La Kaz with jam and honey too. Fancy that.”

His eyes flash but their cab is arriving so he merely opens the door for his dear wife to seat herself and mutters, “Yes, fancy that,” as he climbs in, puts an arm around her, and settles back for the QUIET ride. He knows full well the not-quiet ride is still ahead, probably involving jam or honey or both.

END


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